I’m a knitter, spinner, and fearless warrior in the coming Zombie Apocalypse. What can I say? I multi-task...

Sunday, August 26, 2007

The Last Battle Cry

Strange days, dudes. Strange days, indeed...

It's been a weird week. The weather has ranged from ice box to sweat box conditions. I was abandoned by a shuttle driver at the auto service center where I promptly went into some sort of fugue state and knit almost an entire sock cuff before I realized that the guy who was supposed to drive me home hadn't shown up. I had a "gettin' the swears out" session with my fellow teachers in order that we might be fully ready and appropriate when the first day of school rolls around.

I purchased a NASCAR themed crock pot...on purpose. If that isn't a sign of the strange world in which we are now living, then I don't know what is.

It's a whole new week now, the last before I go back to teaching full time. You'd think I'd want to spend it relaxing or finishing up some of the knitting projects that didn't get done over The Summer That Was. But, it is not to be. Instead, I have committed myself to three days of training in Safety Care. At the moment, I am spending a great deal of time beating myself metaphorically over the head and questioning why I would give up the last few gasps of summer vacation to take a class. But it is for the best in the long run. By being a grown-up about this and making an effort I will be certified as a trainer in the program and the school district will pay me to train everyone else. I suppose there will be a bit of knitting time in there as well, since these things always contain a lengthy lecture component.

See how I'm focusing on the positive, here? Making the best of it? I'm like a role model for grumps everywhere who want to change their dour dispositions. Very mature.

Since I am soon to lose the freedom that is summer vacation and will be spending the next three days trapped in a class, I feel that I deserve one last moment of the crazy. I'm just gonna let 'er rip! Feel free to join me in the bellowing of my new favorite word. Really roll that, "r!" Maybe even spray a little of the spittle when you do it. C'mon...you know you wanna!!!! Ready?

BRIPPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Didn't that feel good? Of course, I realize that my inability to call this pattern by its correct name doesn't change the fact that these are actually the Broadripple Socks from the Knitty archives. But that doesn't have the same sort of ring to it as Bripple does and, after saying it once, the title sort of stuck in my head. I've been randomly shouting out, "Bripple" ever since.

But, I can't do that as of tomorrow. Hence, despite the continued heat and humidity today, every effort was made to complete these socks before I headed out to the training. I'm certain that the nice people who are teaching it will be very grateful. I'm pretty sure that no educator, no matter how skilled, is going to be able to command the attention of a class while a Sheep keeps bleating, "Bripple, Bripple, Bripple!!!!!" all day.

These are a really fun knit and I'm thankful that April, our resident Professional Yarn Fondler, recommended the pattern. They were handcrafted by me using Sunshine yarns Emerald Isles colorway. It used to live with Trek. But Trek sent it to me little knowing that the yarn would become the inspiration for the Bripple Battle Cry. Or maybe she did...you never know.

I took a class similar to that. It was 4 days in November (day no. 4 I was in the emerg. room because my throat was swollen shut and I was begging them to just "give me something so I can take my test"). I am now certified to teach Aggressive Client Management and Handle with Care. Woot. It was an interesting class but nothing a little knitting wouldn't liven up.

About Me

I am a forty-something fiber-freak living in the wilds of Maine. My goals in life include: ridding my home of knitting UFOs, inventing an intraveneous coffee drip and growing old to become the crazy cat lady on my street. You know the one: 10-45 cats, nobody ever really gets a good look at her, just that fleeting glimpse as she screams at the neighborhood children to get off her lawn and about whom local legends abound.